


Through the Looking Glass

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Death by quill, F/M, Haunting, Mirror magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 08:32:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18133394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: Not even death can keep him from her.





	Through the Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DBQ2019Round1](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2019Round1) collection. 



_ Click, click, click, click.  _

 

The sound of her own footsteps sent a crawling shiver up her spine that chilled her to her bones. With a short turn of her head, she shot a paranoid glance over her shoulders, squinting in the dim candlelight.

 

It’d been months since she’d felt like there weren’t any eyes on her.  _ Months. _

 

With a sharp huff, she closed her eyes and desperately tried to reassure herself. She pulled at her fingers and swallowed her delusions. In the darkness, she never thought clearly; her mind pulled her in frantic spirals until she was sure she was unraveled. 

 

Every mirror, every frame that didn’t hold an oil portrait, everything with a shine that could hold a reflection was removed  – gone or covered.  _ She was sure _ . She nodded with a clenched expression.

 

Regardless of her assurances, nothing changed the very real truth that she was still being watched. 

 

She halted, stopping suddenly on her heel when a barely there movement caught her eye. 

 

_ Nothing. _ She shook her head desperate to be sure. 

 

Turning towards a large empty space on the rich ivory wall covering, her eyes traced the shadowed outline where an ornate mirror had hung since her childhood. Her fingers lifted and ran lightly along the length of it, a faint stain along the border, the only reminder of its existence. 

 

Her eyes fluttered closed as she remembered how it all began.

 

* * *

 

 

Pansy should have known better than to ever get involved with him. She’d reasoned with herself time and time again:  _ at least he was a Pureblood _ .  _ It was just sometimes, just when the loneliness was too much. _

 

Truthfully, she’d just loved the way his thick frame felt pressed against her in a broom closet. The way he rutted against her school skirt like she was the last pretty girl he’d ever see, pressing kisses along her jaw in a hungry rush that always left her breathless and needing  _ more. _

 

No one had ever made her feel like that. No one made the same throaty little groans he did when she tugged at his fiery hair, and no one could ever quite touch the spot inside her that drove her wild. He treated her like she was worthy of being worshipped, and he touched her with such a reverence that she kept coming back. 

 

She’d warned him. She’d told him again and again not to get attached, that this was just sex and snogging, and that’s where the line was drawn. 

 

Then she’d gone and crossed her own damn line. Her eyes had started following him as he moved around the castle; she’d started switching her patrol shifts so that she could push him in a broom closet and make herself believe in something again. 

 

It didn’t last; nothing good ever did.

 

It didn’t last because he’d gone and fucking died. 

 

The hallowed grounds of Hogwarts would forever be stained with his stupid Weasley blood, and she would forever be forced to remember the haunted way the light left his clear blue eyes as he darted for her, trying to save her from a curse that wasn’t even meant for her.

 

_ Bloody fucking fool. _

 

* * *

  
  


It was on a Tuesday, during afternoon tea, that she first noticed him. 

 

Her tea spoon clinked relentlessly on the edge of her teacup while her eyes rested lazily on a stack of books on her mother’s desk. The guests were trilling on and on about some upcoming charity event, an easy way to keep their minds off the escalating war. 

 

“Pansy, will you be in attendance this Saturday?” Madam Goyle’s husky voice broke her reverie and she flinched, dropping her teaspoon into her cup. 

 

Pansy gulped, offering a small smile and humming in response, her eyes tightening as she nodded. The conversation swelled again, uninterested in her response anyway.

 

A small, round mirror with an intricate golden frame hung on the wall over her mother’s desk in the parlour, and while listening to the silly witches prattle on, her eyes flickered over to it absently. 

 

Her teacup and saucer crashed against the wood floors, shards of china splintered at their feet, and Pansy felt the blood drain from her ivory skin. She stifled a scream as her trembling fingers shot up to cover her parted lips. Her wide eyes locked on the mirror as her brain went static, trying to make sense of the reflection staring back at her – a boy with a wry smile and a knowing glint in his sapphire eyes. 

 

“Pansy!” Her mother admonished harshly, flourishing her wand through the air and recovering the lost teacup. “Pansy?”  

 

Pansy couldn’t tear her eyes from the boy in the mirror, her breath coming in sharp huffs, her vision hazing as her pulse thrummed violently under her skin.

 

From the moment she’d locked eyes with him, the world froze, but when her mother started shaking her shoulders, the world crashed back into motion, her eyes focusing on her mothers worried gaze.

 

“Quite.” Her breath ghosted past her lips. “Tired, I think. Excuse me.” 

 

Pansy stood, ignoring the concerned eyes of the four witches perched on the surrounding furniture, each one with a teacup suspended in midair. Rounding the settee, she took one final glance at the mirror by the far window and sucked in a harsh breath through her nose. He was still there, staring back at her. 

 

Over the following weeks, tea turned to cocktails as the wives of war fretted over the many questionable decisions of their husbands. Pansy remained mute, sipping on whatever they thrust into her greedy hands and avoiding eye contact with the mirror in the corner. 

 

A week passed and she started to believe she had hallucinated the entire ordeal. The terror waned from her muscles, and she felt herself relax again. She could easily walk into her bathroom, no longer checking around the corner first for the sight of him. 

 

It wasn’t until she’d stumbled in near midnight, tipsy from sneaking away from her mother’s party with some boys from her year, that she caught sight of him again. His reflection was larger now, smiling silently from the mirror perched over her vanity. 

 

She froze, her hands turning ice cold, and her vision blurring from adrenaline or firewhisky, she wasn’t sure. She stumbled backwards, her hands catching on the foot of her bed. She stared back at him, her throat bobbing as she tried frantically to make sense of him, his cornflower eyes etched in a desperate plea.

 

“Go away!” she screamed, her fingers curling into her pretty cocktail dress and tears streaking down her cheeks. “GOOO!” Her voice went hoarse from yelling, and when his fingertips touched against the surface of the mirror, she lost control, fury and magic swelling in her limbs and crackling at her fingertips. Drawing her wand, she sliced it dangerously through the air and shattering glass spilled onto her wood floor. 

 

Through broken, exhausted sobs she peeled her dress from her shoulders and crawled into her bed, leaving the mess for the elves. 

 

That night she dreamt of stolen kisses under a starry sky and a weeping willow. When he broke the kiss and pulled back to stare at her, his vibrant eyes faded to a dull gray before he fell to the ground between them in a heap. 

 

Pansy shot from her bed, covered in sweat and sucking air into her tight chest, her nails digging into the silk sheets. When she tiptoed out of bed and peeked over at the mess she’d left, she was hardly surprised to see his eyes split between two shards and staring sadly at her. 

  
  


“So sorry to bore you, Pansy, dear.” Her father’s voice had a nasty edge to it, and she tore her eyes from the mirror in the corner of the room where Ron Weasley was staring gravely at her, his stubble-kissed jawline fiercely set. 

 

“Sorry?” Her perfectly manicured brow perched high as her gaze settled on her irate father, his bloated pink face puckering his disapproval.

 

“Pansy, your father was remarking on your rather blasé demeanor regarding our marital contract,” Draco offered with a proud tilt of his chin, his dull grey eyes washing over her. Lucius stood statuesque behind him, a matching smug set to his jaw. 

 

“Oh,” she resigned with a heavy breath, taking a demure sip of her lukewarm tea . “Yes, well, it is rather boring. Did you expect me to take interest in something I have no say in?”

 

“Pansy!” her father barked, his firewhisky tumblr slamming against his desk. 

 

She responded with a severe roll of her eyes and then returned her gaze to the man in the mirror, his lips twitching up in amusement.

 

Pansy wasn’t the witch who normally lurked in the aisles of the library, having never found herself terribly interested in the world outside her own narrow view. Her marks were good enough not to catch the ire of her parents, and sadly enough, no one expected her to be smart. 

 

However, there were no mirrors in the library. It became a haven where she finally felt herself breathe without the looming terror of finding Ron Weasley staring back at her. However, when she found herself trailing down the candlelit stacks of her family's modest library, she felt frustrated at not being able to navigate the tomes properly. 

 

“Poppy!” She stamped her foot, her lumos flickering in her anger.. 

 

After a sharp pop of Apparition, Poppy’s wide, round eyes peeked up at her. “Yes, ma'am?” 

 

“I need to find a book.” The young witch continued her meandering, letting the house elf stumble after her, tripping on a dirty, tattered sack that was far too big for her. 

 

Poppy’s gnarled knuckles threaded together in front of her, and her too-large eyes peered up at Pansy. “And what book are you looking for?”

 

Pansy stopped on her heel and pushed the black fringe from her eyes, tilting her chin proudly, her eyes narrowing at the silly little creature. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have called you. Now, please collect any reference on mirror magic you can find.” 

 

Poppy’s expression tightened. “Mirror magic, miss?”

 

“Did I stutter, Poppy? Just do it,” she hissed through clenched teeth and turned the way she’d just come, her lumos charm following her faithfully from the library. 

 

For the better part of an hour, her bare feet wore the antique rug of her bedroom thin as she paced back and forth. Finally, a small pop signaled Poppy’s arrival, and she grumbled as she ripped the door open. Her childhood elf fidgeted nervously and snapped her fingers, depositing a meager stack of books on her small end table. 

 

“Is there anything else, Miss?” Her voice quivered.

 

“No.” The door slammed in the elf’s face, and she observed the pile. Three books. She swallowed a frustrated groan and grabbed the first book, scanning the table of contents and tossing it to the side when she found nothing of interest. 

 

The next book,  _ Magic Mirrors and Witches: Choosing the Mirror For You _ , was truly a testament to how idiotic witches could be in their search for love, fortune, and fame. That one nearly got thrown in the fire, but she settled for chucking it at the wall. 

 

The final reference caught her eye, although the title had nothing to do with mirror magic. “ _ Modern Superstitions Rooted in Ancient Magic by Caoilainn Blaine _ .” 

 

She skimmed the first few chapters – because who was she kidding? – and discovered the author studied both wizarding and Muggle superstitions and their origins. It was all very droll, but she did happen across a chapter on mirror magic. The pages spanned a number of superstitions including seven years of bad luck; how to find your husband on Halloween Night with a mirror, an Apple, a knife and a candle; and also on lost souls and their ties to the other side through mirrored glass. She paused here, letting her fingers glide over the passage.

 

_ It has long since been established that when a soul crosses the Veil, they are confronted with the choice to cross over or remain. Most souls who remain carry unfinished business and take an ethereal form, haunting residences across the world. _

 

_ However, there are some instances in which a spirit will latch to another soul rather than to a residence. These spirits believe that they are called to be with their loved one at any cost and thus refuse their ethereal form, becoming trapped in a space between the Veil and the physical world. _

 

_ These spirits are able to view their soul bounds through very few portals, the most common of which is mirrored glass, although any surface that holds a reflection can be accessed from the haunter’s limbo. _

 

_ The soul, in their quest to be reunited with their soulmate, can attempt to take possession of a weaker soul’s physical form. It has been common practice to cover or remove mirrors surrounding the haunted until they are bound to another through matrimony or other magical bond.  _

 

With a thud, she slammed the book shut, her chest heaving as she stared at the covered mirror across from her bed. 

 

She didn’t have to look; she already knew that if she tugged the drape free of the mirror, he’d be there – his icy blue stare and slight disproving turn of his paper-thin lips staring back at her. Still, she tossed her legs over the side of her bed, icy shivers dragging up her spine when her bare toes touched the cool floor. 

 

She reached out, her fingertips barely brushing the thick black curtain she’d ordered to be used to cover every mirror in her home, and she felt the darkness pulse around her, her chest tightening as she snapped her palm back. 

 

_ No. He’s gone. _

 

* * *

  
  
  


In the past weeks, Ron’s eyes had changed, turning angry and resentful the closer she got to the wedding. 

 

He was also  _ everywhere. _

 

His stare followed her down the corridors. It watched her while she slept, and she ate with a constant hazy view of him in a picture frame over the mantle. 

 

She limited the time she spent primping, unable to stand the way her flesh crawled when he stared at her, his mouth curled in an ugly sneer.

 

Death had changed him, and he seemed bitter watching her move on without him, as though he had actually expected her to mourn him the rest of her days. 

 

Her mind was slipping into a dangerous paranoia, constantly looking over her shoulder, terrified she might catch his reflection out of the corner of her eye. Her eyes were always trained at her feet, and with a racing heart, she flinched when her mother tapped her on the shoulder, asking about a floral arrangement for the wedding. 

 

Pansy personally oversaw the house elves as they relocated every mirror they could, sometimes ripping them from their homes where they’d sat for half a century. 

 

“All of them, Miss?” Kildy had squeaked up at her in confusion. “Where are we to put them?”

 

“I don’t give a shit.” Her mouth twisted around the words. “Until the ceremony is over, I don’t want to see another mirror in this home.” 

 

Retreating back to her room, she ignored the judgemental glares boring into her back by half a dozen house elves.

 

The night before the wedding, the long dining table was stuffed with their family and wedding party. Her groom was stiff, his eyes crawling around the table lazily while Pansy twitched anxiously, tapping the edge of her spoon against her porcelain bowl. 

 

Slugging her bottomless champagne, her reality shimmered as a drunk haze settled over her. In fourteen hours, Ron Weasley would be nothing but a dead blood traitor.

 

“Darling,” Draco clipped with a lazy roll of his head in her direction. “Spoil the fun for me, will you? Do you intend to annoy me to no end at every meal for the rest of my miserable life with your incessant tapping?”

 

Pansy’s lip curled in a snarl and she dropped her spoon with a thud – thick orange pumpkin soup splashing out of the bowl. She could feel the eyes of their guests on them, but she couldn’t bring herself to care enough to pretend at the moment. She’d pretend tomorrow, she reasoned with herself. 

 

“Fucking prick,” she muttered under her breath, shoving away from the table and towards the drink cart.

  
  


After the guests had finally made their way to their own rooms, Pansy climbed the stairs to her suite. Her gown dragged along the heritage rug running the length of the hall as flickering candles lit her long walk. 

 

Drunkenly, she pondered if maybe she might peek in a mirror tonight, if only to say goodbye to her little ginger-haired ghost. Tomorrow, he’d be forced across the Veil – if the book she’d discovered was correct – and she would be free of him. 

 

As she stood tracing the stained tapestry around the bare spot the mirror in the hall once covered, she froze, the door at the end of the hall creaking. She felt an icy prickle at the back of her skull, and a shot of adrenaline surged through her as her heart thudded wildly in her chest. 

 

_ It’s fine, _ she reassured herself. _ They’re gone. He’s gone.   _

 

Her feet carried her towards the sound, a sliver of glowing yellow light pouring onto the floor in the hall. With a trembling hand, she pushed the door open and stepped into the silent room. 

 

She choked out a violent breath, her hand clutching at her chest as her eyes raked the walls of the small study. 

 

Every fucking mirror that had adorned the wall of this home had been stuffed in this room. They rested along the walls and furniture, covering every surface. Her fiance was square in the middle of them, his hands jammed in his pants and shoulders stiff as he appraised them.

 

Her knees knocked together under the weight of her dress, and sharp breaths burned in their desperate bid for escape out of her throat. 

 

Her eyes traveled from frame to frame, and her brows fell in confusion. Each mirror was completely empty. 

 

_ Maybe he’s crossed the Veil _ , she thought to herself as she took a few tentative steps further into the room.  _ Maybe he’s finally given up. _ A hollow sense of relief uncurled in her chest.

 

“Draco.” Pansy sighed. “I know this looks crazy. I can explain… kind of.” She chuckled softly, her fingers coming up to brush against his the fabric of his dress robes. 

 

His blond head peeked over his shoulder, and she gasped. Her relief morphed into panic as she flinched away from him, yanking her hand back. 

 

Something… something about his face. 

 

“Draco?” she swallowed thickly, her brows knitting together as she studied him. 

 

“Hullo, love.” The voice held the same lazy drawl it always had been but his words were...  _ off _ , and when she made eye contact with him, she jumped away from him. 

 

“What the fu–” her words caught in her throat, and she stumbled backwards, falling over the train of her dress and hitting the floor with a loud  _ thud _ . 

 

She studied the unchanged, sharp lines of his face, but when she settled on his eyes again, she noticed the dull grey had been replaced with a vibrant blue, and her breath, impossibly, quickened. Her jaw fell open as the weak candlelight waned, and the darkness in the room closed in on her. 

 

Desperately, she clambered back on her palms until her back hit the thick wooden door, and she whimpered. 

 

“Draco?” she breathed, her eyes wide and round. Tremors wracked her entire body. 

 

“Wrong.” His lips twitched up into a familiar crooked smile, and she felt tears well – hot and angry – as they slid down her face. 

 

“No. It’s… it’s impossible.” She blinked up at him, her heart catching in her throat as involuntary shudders wracked her body. 

 

He crouched down, inspecting her face,  wiping the tears from her cheeks and tucking her silky hair behind her ear while she trembled under his touch. His eyes had a hard edge to them, and she felt his hot breath fan on her face. Her ribs tightened until her breath came out in choked sobs.

 

“Did you miss me?” His expression tight, the pad of his thumb dragging along her jaw. 

 

Her entire body shuddered, her jaw shaking uncontrollably as she stared back at him with wide, round, horrified eyes.

 

“ _ Ron. _ ” 

  
  



End file.
